The Stitches in My Heart
by Grace157
Summary: Sometimes mending things requires more than just a needle and thread...


_Author's Note: My attempt at writing something slightly angstier than my usual stuff, though you could just say it's H/C in disguise. In which case I'm not really trying anything new. But hey! Remadora one-shot, here ya go. (To be honest, I wrote this because I was procrastinating from working on Chasing the Moon, but I promise that the next thing I upload will be chapter five.)  
_

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Tonks had never realised just how big the Order Headquarters was. "The second floor" Sirius had said, but she hadn't anticipated just how many rooms there _were_ on the second floor. She would have loved this place when she was a kid. Games of hide-and-seek that could go on for hours.

However, it wasn't much fun when you were an adult in search of a particular room. After nearly five minutes of searching she was almost ready to give up pursuit. _Twenty-fourth time's the charm, _she thought hopefully as she pushed open yet another heavy door, half-expecting to see another room full of dusty furniture and boxes of unsorted stuff.

But this room wasn't damp and dirty like the others. Instead it was warm and cosy; various potted plants flourished on the windowsill, their pink and yellow leaves basking in the light that shone through the polished windows, and a watercolour painting of Hogwarts in the summertime had been hung up to hide a patch of discolouration on the wallpaper. The shelves had been swept of their cobwebs and were now groaning under the weight of heavy books such as _The Dark Arts Explained: a Guide to Defensive Spellcraft _and _The Complete Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. _

Tonks smiled. If it was possible for a room to look happy to be lived in after so many years of neglect, she reckoned it would look something like this. It was strange to think that she'd known Remus for so long but had never seen his room.

The occupant in question was sitting on the narrow bed in the corner, rummaging in a small leather briefcase with a look of concentration on his pale features. At the sound of the door opening he had looked up, and now his eyebrows raised in mild surprise. 'Hello.'

Tonks grinned back. 'Wotcher,' she said. 'Sirius said you'd be up here.'

He smiled hesitantly back at her. 'Were you looking for me?'

She wandered over to him, eyeing the battered old trunk lying open at the bottom of the bed. Piles of folded shirts and cardigans had been tucked neatly inside. 'Thought you might want some company. D'you mind if I hang out here for a while?'

'Not at all! Have a seat- er, if you can find one, that is.' Remus reached over to move the pile of clothing beside him. He closed his trunk and put them on top. 'I wasn't expecting to see you so early.' From the sewing kit he produced a reel of brown thread. 'I thought you were supposed to be helping with the clearout downstairs?'

Tonks shrugged. 'Yeah, that was the idea. There's a doxy nest in the disused bathroom the size of a small paddling pool. I managed to spray George in the eye with the antivenom, so I've been um, put off duty for the rest of the day.' Actually, Molly had rather irritably told her to "go and see what Alastor's doing or something", which was the nearest thing to being sent her to her room that was possible for a twenty-two year old Auror.

Remus chuckled, picking up a tattered-looking cloak from the pile and draping it over his lap. There was a finger-length tear along one of the seams. 'I suppose that's for the best. In any case, I'm glad of the company.' Luckily, he turned away to unwind an arm's length of thread so he missed the ridiculously-pleased expression on her face.

'What're you up to?' she asked.

'Just a little routine maintenance.' Remus took out a pair of scissors and snipped the end before returning them to the sewing kit beside him.

Tonks closed the door behind her and wandered over. 'Want a hand?' she offered.

'Oh, no,' said Remus a little too quickly, smiling as he shook his head. 'No, I can manage, thank you.' As he held the needle up to the light and attempted to thread it, Tonks noticed how tired he looked. The scars on his face seemed darker than usual.

'Rough night?' she asked sympathetically, sitting down beside him.

'Tonks!' he warned, managing to snatch his wand from underneath her before she could break it. He sighed and put it away in his pocket. 'Yes, you could say that. But I suppose a night in the cellar is better than taking my chances in the middle of the countryside.' His blue eyes turned dark as his thoughts did too.

Tonks thought of him locked up in the dusty old wine cellar and shivered. 'I didn't know you were down there.'

'Sirius has been very kind to me.' Remus licked the end of the thread and finally managed to get it through the needle. 'As you know, thanks to the new legislations it's become rather difficult for me to keep hold of a place of my own, so he's given me this room for as long as I need it.' He lapsed into silence.

Tonks watched as Remus pinched closed a hole in his cloak before weaving a pattern across the edges. It was his travelling cloak, the one he usually wore when he was outside. The collar was frayed at the edges, the elbows worn thin from so much use. She shifted uncomfortably on the bed. It wasn't exactly a secret that Remus had been struggling to find work for years, but there was something desperately depressing about that old cloak. She made a mental note to buy him a new one for Christmas.

Remus wasn't much of a talker after a full moon, so they sat in companionable silence. Tonks watched him work with poorly-disguised fascination. He had very nimble fingers, she noticed. His hands were pale, scarred and scratched from so many transformations but they were capable of such delicate movements, the needle moving smoothly in and out of the fabric without a hitch. Gentle hands. He should have been a Muggle doctor; his very presence had a calming effect. Only a minute or so later, the hole in his cloak was just another row of neat, little stitches.

'Nice,' she commented as he held it up, satisfied. 'I should get you to mend mine sometime. I'm always ripping something.'

Remus smiled thinly, drawing a hand across his forehead. He did look very tired. Tonks would have told him to get something to eat and then sleep for the rest of the day, except that she made a point of not talking about his lycanthropy. She was his friend, not his mother. Or his wife.

'You know,' said Tonks helpfully as he put the cloak to one side and picked up a dishevelled cardigan, 'you could do it a lot quicker with magic.' She held her wand over the torn wool. 'I'm sure there's a spell-' Even as she said it, green fumes emitted from her wand and the stitches shivered perceptibly.

Remus' cool fingers brushed her wrist as he gently pushed her hand away. 'That won't be necessary,' he assured her, his blue eyes holding hers as he smiled. 'Spells like those are often fiddly. And I find that darning by hand is much more reliable.'

Tonks blushed, and the ends of her pink hair turned beetroot red.

If Remus noticed, he gave no indication of it. 'Sirius used to laugh at me when we were boys.' He snipped off a length of grey thread and licked the frayed end. 'But some things are worth doing carefully. Taking time over.' His face was a picture of patient concentration as he mended the tear so that it was almost invisible. Despite his duelling skills, Remus wasn't the sort of person who got fidgety if he was in the same place for too long. Tonks could imagine him spending his days in some old library, reading for hours on end before falling asleep in a leather armchair like a contented tabby cat.

Tonks smiled to herself. The image suited him well. Then another thought popped into her head, unbidden: _he certainly looks cuddly enough with all the jumpers he wears._

When he was done, Remus added the cardigan to the pile and picked up a pair of trousers with a large rip in the knee. They'd clearly been repaired several times already; no wonder his clothes kept falling apart. She glanced at his face and noticed that he looked sad, but he hid it as soon as he saw her looking.

'I was talking to Sirius this morning.' She paused. 'He said you were a bit under the weather.'

Remus sighed as he opened up his sewing kit and sifted through various scraps of material. 'Work has become… stressful at the moment. I've found it difficult to concentrate fully.' He cast a sidelong glance at her, something nameless flickering behind his eyes. 'As a result my transformations are rather difficult at the moment. I'm more violent than usual, hence all of this.' He indicated the pile of slashed clothing with distaste. 'I suppose I'm lucky my wand's still intact.'

On a closer inspection, Tonks saw that the material surrounding the tear on his trousers was stained with blood. His blood. 'I'm sorry you're having a tough time of it,' she said sincerely. Now that she thought about it, he'd seemed more tense and withdrawn around her lately, not just around the full moon. 'Is there anything I can do?'

Remus smiled and shook his head. It was a sad smile. He was often sad. 'I'll be alright,' he said stiffly, still not looking at her. 'I'll work through it on my own.'

Tonks stared at him, her head to one side. 'You're allowed to ask for help, you know,' she said quietly. Why did he have to look so sad? 'You don't have to go it alone.'

'Well, I've found it's better that way.' Remus pulled the needle through with slightly more force than necessary, making an unpleasant grating sound. 'I'm dangerous, and I bring others' hatred and fear upon whoever shares my company.' He frowned down at the ruined material, pain and loss etched across his tired face. How many times had people turned him away, rejected his company, even his friendship just because of what he was?

'That's not true,' said Tonks quietly. 'Don't listen to those jumped-up bigots at the Ministry, they know nothing. Do you really believe we think any less of you because of it? Do you think _I_ care?'

He closed his eyes tightly as though her words caused him physical pain. 'I almost wish you did. It's what I might do to you, what others might say to you if you're seen with me that's worst. It's bad enough when it happens to me, but if it happened to-' He shook his head and returned to his darning with exaggerated interest, avoiding her eyes. 'You can only repair things so many times before they fall apart,' he said. Tonks wasn't sure whether it was an attempt at humour to change the subject, or a meaningful insight into his current state of mind. He seemed to realise that he'd said too much, and angled away from her slightly, looking mildly embarrassed.

Tonks looked at Remus with new understanding. Was that why he'd been distant with her these past few weeks? He worked so hard to hide how much the discrimination hurt that it was only now, when he was physically and mentally exhausted from the pains of transforming and the subsequent lack of sleep that the cracks began to show.

And Tonks just didn't know what to say. All she knew was that she desperately wanted to comfort him, anything to take away that haunted look on his face. Underneath the peaceful, book-loving exterior was someone who needed to be accepted, to be wanted, to be understood.

Tonks reached out and put a hand on his back. She could feel the warmth of him even through his cardigan, feel the stuttering of breath in his aching lungs. 'Remus,' she said gently, unsure what else to say.

Remus made an odd twitching movement, as though unsure whether or not to shrug her off, and his hand jerked and he stabbed himself with the needle. 'Ouch.'

'Oh, I'm sorry!' said Tonks as he pulled it out of his thumb and hastily returned it to the pin cushion. 'I'm so clumsy…'

'It's fine,' he said gruffly. 'Honestly, I can manage.'

But Tonks wasn't having it. 'Come here.' She took his hand in hers, turning it palm-upwards. He had such gentle hands.

Remus didn't pull away, only looked mildly confused as she passed her wand over the tiny puncture wound in his thumb. She couldn't mend broken bones, but _Episkey _was one spell she could do very well. His lips parted slightly as she leant forward and pressed a kiss to his injured finger, and she hid a grin at the small flush that coloured his pallid cheeks.

'There,' she breathed, 'all mended.'

And though the faraway look in his eyes still lingered, the tiniest of smiles appeared on Remus' face, and the hand that squeezed hers was that of a man who was now just a little less broken.

Just a little bit mended.


End file.
